Medieval Times/Transcript

WORK IN PROGRESS; NEEDS HUMAN REVIEW

(applause)

thank you very much.

My wife dragged me to

the possum lake little theatre.

They were doing "camelot".

It's smart to do a musical.

While you're sitting there

thinking they can't sing,

you forget they can't act.

"camelot", I love that!

♪ camelot ♪

♪ I know it may sound

a bit bizarre ♪

you don't just sound bizarre,

harold.

But you know,

while I'm sitting there,

I'm thinking, in a way

possum lodge is

kind of our camelot.

Wouldn't it be great

to dress up

as knights of the round table

and force people

to become christians?

Yeah, yeah, because they wore

armour and stuff like that.

They had, like, chain mail.

I got a chain letter once,

but that's a lot different.

Just ignore him.

It's not rude.

It's saving his life.

Stay tuned and watch

middle-aged guys

recreate the middle ages.

♪ if ever

I would leave you ♪

don't tease

me, harold.

(geese honking)

(quacking)

(red): If I have to

explain this,

we'll be here all evening.

We do have edgar montrose

trying to hear.

I'll lay a little peace sign

on buzz sherwood.

I'll build a crossbow

that puts hair on your chest.

Old lady benkman,

principal of the school,

has offered us

their old sports equipment.

She's hoping to participate

in our medieval day.

She wants to play guinevere.

She's a light on the guine,

but she's heavy on the vere.

I don't think

used sports equipment

is the best idea to

represent the middle ages,

unless I'm missing something.

You're gonna be, harold.

How about purple horses?

Do you think we could use

purple horses at all?

Purple horses?

The school board

has purple horses?

That would explain

the meat in the cafeteria.

That says "pommel horses,"

uncle red.

We could use that.

What about this

the long pole vault thing?

Parallel bars.

That's how I sprained

my armpits.

Yeah.

I hate gym.

(red): In keeping with

our medieval times theme,

bill will have

a lesson on fencing.

Kind of

a delicate french thing.

Uh-oh! -- Very good.

Almost like a ballet.

Very, very dignified.

Unfortunately,

I'm not from France.

Here we are with buzz sherwood

to play

the possum lodge word game.

Is this the part where

I fill up the shopping cart?

No.

Today's prize is

three bottles of

possum hills drinking water

and a pair of running shoes.

Harold, give me the word.

I'll show the folks at home

what it says.

Buzz, you got 30 seconds

to say this word.

Let's do it.

Uh, harmony.

Bad music!

Tranquillity.

Oo, oo, ah, hiding place!

War and...

Commission.

Commission?

The warren commission --

it was such a crock.

Oswald

couldn't have been alone!

Two beers.

Closing time!

Live long and prosper,

mr. Spock.

What does the minister

say to you?

Adultery is a sin.

Remember about a month ago,

the cops pulled you over.

What did they say?

You can call flying your plane

through a mall

freedom of expression,

but we call that

disturbing the peace.

That's the one!

♪ life is like a river ♪

♪ it winds and ebbs

and flows ♪

♪ it carries you along

for quite awhile ♪

♪ then it shoots water

up your nose ♪

♪ life is like a river ♪

♪ nothing scheduled ♪

♪ nothing planned ♪

♪ you cruise along

as far as you can ♪

♪ and at the end

you're probably dammed ♪

with the lodge into

a middle-ages frame of mind,

I'll take handyman corner

and build something appropriate

for the age of chivalry.

Remember that show "robin hood"?

You know what I loved?

The way they'd send messages

by attaching them to an arrow

and shooting them

into a tree or a peasant's back.

Why don't we use

that technology

to send packages

through the woods?

Sort of a courier de bois.

If that makes you blanch,

then maybe you're

a blanche dubois.

Or a t.V. Critic.

First thing you need

is a pole vault pole

to use as your bow.

I got this from

the possum lake school,

but you can get one for free

by standing next to

the pole vault event.

As the guy goes over,

he'll let go of the pole.

You'll be miles away

by the time he ces to,

when he lands on the ground,

'cause the cushion got moved,

you know, by somebody.

You'll need some kind of

a bow string.

You could use a rope

or a garden hose.

But I suggest fan belts

out of your car.

Or better yet, fan belts

from your friends' cars.

Sure, they'll be ticked

when their cars are

boiling over all the time.

But vehicles don't belong

in the middle ages,

except maybe buster's edsel.

We'll need an arrow

for this rig.

I suggest a shovel,

especially if you'll be

sending government documents.

I know what you're thinking.

"how will one guy be able to

work this huge bow and arrow

all by himself?

Well, that's a little surprise

I've been saving for you.

I'm not just building a bow.

(squeaking)

I'm building a crossbow.

Now, with a boat trailer,

you get the perfect angle

for launching.

With her mounted on wheels,

you have the full

390 degree range for aiming.

Now, what you do is

get yourself a piece of rope,

tie it to the bow line,

and then just hook your winch

right on there.

And crank her back.

(humming)

(groaning)

there we go.

We have to adapt the handle

so that she'll hook onto

the bow line.

Just pull that out.

No, no.

We've got to attach something

to the shovel

to carry the parcels.

You could use a lunch pail,

a bread box.

I prefer a bedpan.

It's light, aerodynamic,

and it prepares the receiver

for bad news.

No news is good news.

All right, just going to aim

this up to braxton's marina,

'cause I've got this

electronic ignition

that I have to return

or pay for it.

Now, to send our package,

all I have to do is

cut the twine.

You could tie a spool of thread

onto the shovel

and you could

trace your package.

There we have it.

The possum lake

medieval courier service,

when it absolutely has to

get there over water.

Remember, if the women

don't find you handsome,

and I'm guessing they don't,

they should at least

find you handy.

Fore!

(crashing)

sorry!

Ah.

(red): Be there

when ranger gord discovers

another phobia.

Sometime you'll be

at a social function

when one or two younger women

will start flirting with you.

They'll pat your bald head,

laugh at your corny jokes,

maybe playfully sit in your lap

or get you on the dance floor.

Make you feel alive?

Make you feel like

a pistol again?

Well, congratulations.

You are officially

an old geezer.

(laughing)

yeah, you.

I'm talking to you.

That's the first sign.

Those women are fawning you

because they think it's cute

to see someone your age

doing the frug.

Think of who else was there.

A bunch of young guys with

testosterone in their eyes,

and one thing on their mind.

Whereas you are old

and fun and safe.

It's not bad

being an old geezer.

Did you have fun?

Did you enjoy being

the centre of attention?

Sure you did.

While you're rubbing

liniment into your joints,

you've got the memory.

I'm pulling for you 'cause

we're in this together,

you old geezer!

(applause)

on behalf of our viewers

and mankind in general,

what the heck are you

doing here, ranger gord?

Here's my idea.

After a rain,

the fire danger is low.

So I'm building

a sprinkler system

for the forest.

A sprinkler system

in the forest.

It's mandatory

in most buildings,

why shouldn't it be

in the forest.

I'm drilling out

these old branches

to use as pipes

to carry the water along.

I'm using pine cones

as sprinklers.

Gord, did you ever think

there's a time limit

on how long a person

should be a forest ranger?

No, no way.

Not from me, red, because

as smokey the bear once said,

"only you can prevent

forest fires."

he said that to me one day.

I remember the day

like it was yesterday.

I was in the basement.

I turned on my 26-inch admiral

and there was smokey the bear,

looked me straight in the eye

and said

"only you can prevent

forest fires."

I said, "yes, sir."

it might have been a burden

to lay on a 9 year old,

especially since I didn't want

to prevent forest fires.

I wanted to study medicine.

But when a bear sends

a personal message to you,

you'd better darn well listen.

Gord, I think that's

more of a slogan, actually.

Sorry, what?

Smokey the bear said "only you

can prevent forest fires"

in every commercial

he ever did.

It was his schtick.

So it wasn't a message to me?

Oh, gosh no.

No, no.

What, what?

I could have studied medicine.

Yeah, uh...

All right.

You know, gord, wait a minute.

Come on back.

Think about it this way.

You're saving a lot more lives

as a forest ranger

than you ever would have

as a doctor.

But I haven't saved

a single life here.

But you're still ahead.

Yeah.

This medieval day

is turning into

the most educational event

we've ever had at possum lodge,

which isn't all that hard.

Where's your armour?

The paint's

drying.

Those hockey pads

really soak up the primer.

I hope the horses aren't hurt.

We're not using horses.

We bolted pommel horses

to k-cars.

Horses were good enough

for knights of the round table.

We need more horsepower.

The wives are doing up

a groaning board,

but, nobody knows what that is.

Oh yeah,

it's a groaning board.

Sure, I know, yeah.

It's a board and it groans.

You got a groaning

and a board.

It's a groaning board.

As I say,

nobody knows what that is.

I figure anything that

uses food and involves

the word "groaning"

sounds good.

I never thought history

was this exciting.

I thought history was

just dead people.

Well, it's early yet.

You know, ranger gord,

you living, eating and sleeping

up in the tower for 16 years,

you ever suffer from

acrophobia at all?

What's that, red?

Fear of heights.

Heights?

Oh no --

I'm not really that high here.

What's the matter?

Oh, oh.

Help me.

It's too high.

No, no, only 200 to 300 feet.

I'm too high.

No, you're fine.

I'm too high.

I'm too high.

What's the matter?

I'm too high.

We're on television.

We're on television here.

You're crying on my shoe.

Yeah.

All right, that's fine.

When you look back into

medieval history,

there's a lot of pomp

and circumstance.

That's what we wanted to

recreate.

This is a normal way

of starting...

Of starting a...

That would get on your nerves,

wouldn't it?

Mm-hmm.

Uh-huh, yeah.

That's my way of

throwing down the gauntlet.

This sets up a sword fight

or a duel of some kind.

We used to do more fencing

at the lodge

before the police crackdown.

You get the mask on.

That's me behind there.

When you hit a guy,

you won't hurt him.

I put my hat on

so I'd know who I was

in case I got lost.

Bill's got a little beeper

on his, too.

He actually got

the prescription screen.

Didn't want to strain his eyes.

(creaking)

come out of your corner,

and dosie-do.

For gosh sakes!

That is a bit frightening.

Now we get into

the majesty of it all.

All right, see, normally

you hold on to the sword.

It's a good one on bill.

Oh, it's a good one

on me, I guess.

Oh, well,

I got three other wheels.

Don't you worry about it,

bill.

And...

Back to the sword fighting.

Yeah, yeah, yeah,

thrust, parry, thrust, thrust,

thrust, thrust, thrust, thrust,

thrust, thrust, ouch.

Why don't you run

and catch that, bill?

Look out, look out.

(laughing)

the van kind of

got back at him.

Take the mask off.

It's over there.

Get that sword.

Chasing a sword,

that's bright, isn't it?

Grab it.

You missed it.

Oh, you're fine.

Oh, you're fine.

It's just through your shoe.

There's no problem there.

At least now I know

where bill is.

Might as well finish the fight

though.

(laughing)

I love the middle ages.

(red): Stay tuned for

"jason of the round table".

(applause and cheering)

(red): Ok, blow me a herald,

harold!

Pardon me?

Blow me a herald, harold!

What's a harold harold,

uncle red uncle red?

You know, the way they would

herald the trumpets

to bring the king in.

Oh, yeah, yeah, ok, ok.

(fanfare)

here he comes!

(applause)

(laughing and applause)

the old king red,

the conqueror.

Ha ha!

Wow!

You look psychotic, uncle red.

You saucy-tongued minstrel.

I could have you beheaded.

That's better than dying of

embarrassment -- look at me!

That's your own fault, harold.

I told you you could be

the wizard if you wanted.

Wizard?

I thought you said whizzer.

What's all that talk about

the royal wee on the throne?

You've come home

in the best mood of your life.

You walk in and hear

those words that make

your blood run cold.

"we need to talk."

men shoot the breeze,

men chew the fat.

Men don't talk.

She wants you to do

something else men don't do,

share your feelings.

Men only have three emotions.

Mild anxiety,

full-blown panic...

I may have miscounted.

No, there's the one

when you're driving.

Primal rage.

Whereas women have

a huge range of emotions

with the subtle gradations

of an f.M. Radio dial.

If emotions were colours,

a woman's emotions

would look like

that wall of paint chips

at the hardware store,

with names like

misty river green.

Whereas men are stuck with

rustoleum red

and safety yellow.

Here's what you do.

Don't talk, just listen.

Clamp down on the inside

of your mouth with your teeth.

That gives you a soulful look.

It may bring tears to your eyes

which you can dab away

with your manly fist.

Score big points.

She'll think you're swimming in

a deep well

of emotional riches.

Whereas you're wading in

the shallow end

of clueless wonderment.

So remember, bide your time.

And bite your tongue.

Welcome to the expert portion

of the show.

This week we have

excellent experts:

My uncle red and his friend,

mr. Edgar montrose.

(applause)

ok,

this letter goes as follows.

It's from a viewer

in madison, wisconsin.

Oh, ho, ho.

"dear experts, I am restoring

a 1963 rambler.

"at 2 a.M. Last night

"I went into the house

for a bandage

"and I found a note

from my wife

"saying that

she was leaving me.

"her clothes were gone,

"and I think she took

most of the furniture.

"is she kidding

"or what?

"signed, confused."

well, thanks for writing,

confused,

rather than showing up

in person.

Ok, now, the hardest thing

about these situations

is getting rid of the stove.

Mr. Montrose,

this gentleman here,

he's got a rambler.

His wife is gone.

Once a man starts cooking,

the next thing you know,

he thinks he can

live without women.

And that way lies madness.

And believe me, I'm not just

guessing about this.

You gotta get rid

of the stove.

Not that easy to do, edgar.

The environmentalists

won't let you

just throw 'em into the lake

anymore.

I'd put her up

on top of the van,

go for a drive --

whatever happens happens.

Parts per million,

that's the secret.

Lower the parts per million.

Reduce the density.

Break that baby down

into tiny little pieces

so it can be

absorbed by the earth.

Put a triple charge

of number seven dynamite

in the oven drawer and kaboom!

(applause)

you know, that would be

kind of fun to watch.

Sounds incredibly dangerous.

Exactly.

Don't have a magnet

in your pocket

or you'll wind up with

200 pounds of iron filings

in your shorts...

... Again.

(laughing)

blow up a stove and romance

comes back into your life.

Quite possibly the stupidest

advice I've ever heard.

Well, of course it is, harold.

We're just killing time here.

That's for sure.

Anyone who's restoring

a rambler

is beyond help anyway.

(laughing)

who would have thought

two guys in home-made armour

carrying wooden lances,

heading at each other

on a couple of pommel horses

bolted to k-cars

would be dangerous?

I guess it was rough being

a knight of the round table.

Course, in those days

they didn't have to worry

about a tie-rod breaking.

There was cars

swerving everywhere.

When stinky peterson's

monk robes

got stuck in that bumper,

he went from being friar tuck

to lady godiva.

It made us appreciate

the things we have today.

Ambulances, stretchers,

x-ray machines.

Meeting time.

(squealing)

you go ahead.

I want to get this off.

I'm getting metal fatigue.

If my wife is watching,

I'm no longer king red.

I've renounced my throne.

I'm going back to being a serf

and "serf's up".

To the rest of you,

thanks for watching.

On behalf of myself and harold

and the gang at possum lodge,

keep your stick on the ice.

(applause and cheering)

(possum squeal)

here's here.

Up and at 'em.

(all): Quando omni flunkus,

moritati.

(red): Well, here we are.

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Boy, this is too much!